Another Fateful Night
by BurgundyHope
Summary: While the rest of the castle slept, she fought to save a beloved friend's life.


A/N: Thanks to My Dear Professor McGonagall for the prompt and editing advice! :)

* * *

A frantic knocking on the door of her quarters slowly roused Poppy from a restless sleep. She opened her eyes and blinked in confusion before a sharp spasm in her neck told her she must have fallen asleep in her chair by the fireplace. She hadn't been sleeping well since Dumbledore had been forced out of the castle, and consequently nodded off in the most inconvenient places. Groaning, she rolled her head on her shoulders for a second but stopped suddenly when she heard again the rattling of her locked door.

"Poppy!"

The voice didn't register, and Poppy warily reached into the pocket of her dressing gown for her wand.

"Poppy! Open the door!"

It was Pomona Sprout.

Poppy gave a sigh of relief upon recognizing the voice as a friend's, but she was slightly annoyed, all the same, to be woken up in the middle of the night—the fact that she had been sleeping uncomfortably in a chair was beside the point. She pushed her knitted afghan off her lap and hurried to the door. "Oh, don't get your wand in a knot, Pomona. What—?"

As soon as Poppy opened the door, the near panicked expression on Pomona's face stopped her cold. For a moment, Pomona seemed at a loss for words, as if she was actually surprised that someone had opened the door. She was breathing in a way that suggested she'd run to the hospital wing, and her mouth was working, trying to form words. That, more than anything, told Poppy something was horribly wrong, and she was suddenly terrified.

Pomona could usually be counted on to meet challenges head-on, to speak up and say what needed to be said in difficult situations, which was why her silence was so uncharacteristic, so unnerving. Poppy knew whatever had happened had shaken Pomona deeply, and so she decided she would have to step up and take charge of the situation. She took hold of Pomona's arms and calmly asked, "What is the matter? What's happened?"

Pomona seemed to shiver, but then blinked once, twice, deliberately and drew herself up, gathering her strength and wits back to her.

"Severus should be here any moment now, but I ran ahead to warn you." Her speech was matter-of-fact, but rushed as if the shock of her message would lessen the faster it was told. "That…_woman_…and some Ministry workers just tried to attack Hagrid," she hurried on as Poppy's eyes widened, "and Minerva rushed out to help him—" her voice started to crack, and she stopped abruptly.

"What _happened_, Pomona?" Poppy tightened her grip on Pomona's arms.

"They all turned on her. Minerva's in a bad way, Poppy."

Almost at once, the doors to the hospital wing crashed open, the two women jerked their heads toward the noise. Severus strode in, a dark look on his face, levitating a conjured stretcher with Minerva on it in front of him.

Poppy covered her mouth with her hand, feeling suddenly dazed, and glanced distractedly over at Montague, her only patient, to make sure he was sleeping. Then she immediately shook herself and hurried down the length of the hospital wing, meeting Severus half-way, just as he was moving Minerva onto a bed.

With a flick of his wand the stretcher was gone; another flick and the lamp on the bedside table was lit. Poppy vaguely noticed Pomona putting curtains up around the bed, but she was focused on the woman before her. And although she moved with quick, sure hands to begin her diagnostic spells, her mind couldn't help faltering every time she glanced up and realized the woman lying in front of her was Minerva McGonagall. Her hair was untidy, falling out of its bun; her robes were torn and dusty, and she looked…well, she looked…_dead_. At a glance it was impossible to tell that she was breathing, and her face was frighteningly pale.

Again, Poppy shook herself and began treating Minerva's visible, external injuries. Gently, tenderly, she brushed a hand across Minerva's forehead—there were no obvious cuts or bruises on her face, but she seemed to have a fever. Poppy ran deft hands quickly down her arms, torso, legs—no obvious fractures or wounds. Then, carefully, cautiously, Poppy began to unbutton the front of Minerva's robes, or what was left of them. The fabric had been burned clear through in places.

Sharply, without looking up from her task, she asked, "These burns are from magic. Severus, what was she hit with?"

"Four Stunners to the chest."

That blunt statement hit Poppy like a spell to her own chest, and she struggled to remain focused.

"Merlin…" came Pomona's stunned voice from her right.

"Severus, go to my cabinets in the back. There should be some gels for magical burns on the far right—bring the strongest you can find. Pomona, help me get her robes off completely. They are in the way and her temperature is rising." Normally, Poppy was calm under pressure, but in this case panic was lurking close to the surface, just waiting to take hold and drag her under. Minerva was strong, but at her age, and the force of all four Stunners combined…. It was just too early to say what might happen.

Pomona sat on the opposite side of the bed from Poppy and reached her right arm behind Minerva's shoulders to help Poppy pull the robes down Minerva's back.

But then it happened.

Minerva gasped loudly, her eyes shot open, and her face contorted into a look of excruciating pain. She began gasping, wheezing. It was a horrible, heart-wrenching sound. With surprising strength, she tried to sit up and started clawing at her chest, but that only increased her agony and she crumpled back into Pomona's arms. Tears were streaming down her face and her sobs made it all the harder for her to breathe.

"Pomona, hold her still!" Poppy's tone was clipped, tense. She needed to give Minerva something to calm her down, but couldn't bring herself to leave her side. "Keep her hands away from her chest!" Poppy turned around and yelled over her shoulder, "Severus! Quickly please!" Minerva's heartbeat was much too fast, and if she went into shock—

With a gasp, Minerva went still. Poppy checked her wrist for a pulse. There was none. In a flash she drew her wand. "_Ennervate_!"

There was still no pulse beneath her fingertips. "_Ennervate!_"

And Minerva's heart began to beat again. Her pulse was a good deal weaker now, and she was breathing shallowly, but it was beating and she was alive.

Poppy lowered her wand, trembling, clasping both hands together to still them. She looked up at Pomona, who was still holding Minerva, and saw she was white as a sheet, making her brown eyes look unnaturally dark and haunted.

"That was too bloody close, Poppy." In another time and place, Pomona would have said those exact words and Poppy would have laughed or scolded her for her language, depending on the situation. But tonight, Pomona's voice caught in her throat as she spoke, and Poppy could only nod, mutely agreeing.

Severus rushed around the curtains holding a jar of soothing gel to put on the burns, and the moment was over. He paused for a second, his angular face blank, assessing the situation. Poppy thought it was truly a mark of how serious their predicament was and how much he did, indeed, respect Minerva that she did not hear the usual sneering condescension in his tone when he asked, "Poppy, do you not think it might be wise to take Minerva to St. Mungo's?"

She searched his dark eyes, looking for something, though she wasn't sure what. Concern? He had sounded genuine.

She turned to look back at Minerva. The moonlight shining on her from a nearby window showed the stark reality of her physical condition. She looked up at Pomona, silently asking her opinion.

Pomona nervously glanced down at Minerva. "Even if you _can_ treat her fully here in the hospital wing, Poppy, that…that _bitch_—" The venom in her voice startled Poppy, "—will still be here. And I, for one, will not be able to rest while she and Minerva are together in this castle and Minerva is defenseless."

Poppy nodded once. Pomona was right. With grim determination, she examined Minerva once again.

"Aside from the obvious burns on her chest—and the question of her heart—she has a concussion, several cracked vertebrae and ribs, and one of her lungs is in danger of collapsing." She took a moment to regain her composure. "If it does, her heart could stop again." She turned to Severus. "Please contact St. Mungo's for me."

"Right away."

"And Severus?" His brow furrowed slightly in confusion. Poppy's voice was laced with steel. "Keep our dear headmistress away from here."

* * *

It was almost three in the morning, and after two additional scares when Minerva's heart had ceased beating—and had practically threatened to stop Poppy's as well—Minerva had finally been stabilized long enough to get her to St. Mungo's. Poppy hated to think of her alone there, knowing how much Minerva hated the hospital, but she knew it was their best option.

Someone clearing their throat broke in on Poppy's musings, and she looked up from her chair in front of her fireplace to find Pomona standing over her with a cup of tea for each of them. She accepted it with a small, but grateful, smile. "We must look a sight, the pair of us, both in our dressing gowns and our hair a mess." She fingered her pale, blonde hair, haphazardly woven into a braid over her shoulder.

"Speak for yourself, dear," Pomona scoffed as she settled into another padded armchair across from Poppy. "I'll have you know I always look my best," she said with a wink.

Poppy laughed out loud, for the first time in Merlin knew how long. But the levity faded quickly. And suddenly she felt like crying.

"She'll be alright, Poppy." Pomona's words were slow, measured, serious once again. Poppy gazed at her uncertainly, but with respect. She always paid special attention whenever Pomona chose to share her maturity and wisdom.

"Minerva is being cared for by the best healers in the country. And neither Dolores nor the Ministry will be able to reach her while she's at St. Mungo's." Poppy nodded. "Severus has already informed Filius of the entire situation, and they are telling the others at this very moment—Septima, Aurora, Bathsheba, all of them. We will all have to take special care for the rest of term to watch over the students and stay out of trouble. She _will not_ gain any more ground."

They finished their tea in silence, staring into the fire. They both knew they needed to sleep, but neither was willing to say goodnight. They craved the company of a friend.

But left alone with her thoughts too long Poppy began to doubt herself, second-guess how she had taken care of Minerva. If only she had been able to help her sooner. If only she had read the results of her diagnostic spells _before_ they had tried to move Minerva. If only—_What if Minerva doesn't recover?_

Poppy was trembling again, angry tears threatening to fall. "Pomona," she spoke in a controlled whisper, "what if—"

"Poppy." Pomona cut in firmly, and she felt as if Pomona could see right through her. "There are no 'ifs'. There is _only_ what _did_ happen, and you did all you could. Do you understand me?"

In an instant, Pomona's gaze softened, and she moved forward with her arms outstretched. Poppy let herself be pulled into her tight embrace. "You saved Minerva's life, love, and I am so proud of you. _Thank you_."

And Poppy clung to her dear friend as they finally allowed themselves to cry. Their lives had changed drastically in the space of only a few hours, and they silently prayed for the life of a beloved friend and the strength to endure.


End file.
